Dead Beating Heart
by GreenWallsOfArt
Summary: Two years after his marriage to Victoria, Victor comes across a story that somehow seems quite familiar. When it becomes too familiar, he embarks to the Underworld, and in befriending a mysterious amnesiac, discovers a secret about his greatest adventure.
1. Prologue

Prologue

"_New arrival! Come on everyone, it's a new arrival!"_

_ There came the flashing lights, the ringing bell…_

_ "Lights up!"_

_ "Drinks for everyone!" That distinct voice, while rather high-pitched, sounded French; actually pretty close by, and beneath it, there came the sound of scratchy, skittering legs, just like an insect's…_

_ "Coming through, everybody!" A low, bubbly voice that sounded like someone trying to talk with water at the back of their throat, pushed through, and then, a cold land touched…_

_ "She's not waking up," the same voice said._

_ "Do you think she might be knocked out?" another voice wondered aloud._

_ "Someone fetch some water!"_

_ "No!" said the watery lady's voice. "If she needs to rest, then someone take her to a bed. Come on quickly, don't fuss!" She clapped her hands quickly, her heavy steps clanking on the floor._

_ "Eh, come on blokes!" a high, scratchy voice said. "We gotta get this pretty girl to a coffin."_

_ Coffin? Why would they need to get her to a coffin? She felt fine, just a little sleepy and, maybe light-headed. Maybe if she tried to stand back up, she could get back to normal, and find…_

_ …wait. Why did it smell like sawdust and decay?_

_ What was happening?_

_ Mustering up as much strength as she could, she pressed her eyes open. She had to close them back up again, because the walls that surrounded her were a bright pink and green, the lanterns and lights flooding the space with their pastel glows. It was too much for her tired eyes, and sent such a jolt of unfamiliarity through her that she swore her heart almost leapt out of her throat._

_ It should have almost hurt to have her heart pound that hard against her ribs, but…_

_ …it didn't. She couldn't feel her heart at all. Rather it felt like a cold rock that was encased inside of her._

_ "I'm dreaming," she said to herself. "I'm only dreaming about this. I'm just sleeping, yes, that same dream I had about the angels. I only can't breathe or feel my heart because this dream is just…just too real. The other souls are just carrying me somewhere to help me return to peace…"_

_ "This ain't no dream, honey. You're as real as the old bowler on my head." The rough, scratchy voice spoke soothingly to her, but there was no true consolation in his tone. If she wasn't dreaming, and actually couldn't feel her heart, shouldn't he be worried about getting her to a hospital…?_

_ "Hey, if you're feeling better, a toast then!" another voice said. "To the newcomer!" He clapped a glass against a surface, and then there was a gurgling sound while he drank up._

_ "Oi, watch where you spill that!" said yet another voice, this one very commanding and almost soldier-like. "You might just get that drink on her dress."_

_ "Just look at you, poor dear!" said the same lady's voice from earlier. "You should not let these ruffians get you excited. You must have been through such trouble up there."_

_ "Up there? What…what do you mean?" She could hardly find the strength in her voice; inexplicably, her eyelids were heavy as waterlogged driftwood, and felt very much like sleeping. Perhaps she might as well begin, while she was being carried to a cozy bed, where she could rest and make sense of what was happening…_

_ "Just sleep, dear," the lady said, smoothing the hair on her forehead._

_ "On the other hand," said the first scratchy voice. "Blue hair looks really, very pretty on a corpse like her."_

_ Blue hair? Corpse?_

_ Her eyes flew open, and she sat bolt upright._

_ "Oh, now look what you did!" the lady said, putting her hands on her hips. _

_ "What's happening?" the awakened girl nearly shouted, not realizing she hadn't taken a breath to speak. "Where am I? Who are you all?"_

_ Her eyes couldn't believe what they were seeing. Speckling the colorful space, all dressed in tattered, bright clothes, were mysterious-looking people, their skin a sky blue, and their hair either black or a dark blue. There was not a speck of beige or chocolate brown color on any one person there, and, if she hadn't seen the decaying skin giving way to gnarly bones, she would have thought they were aliens._

_ But when she looked down, and noticed the bony hands holding her up, she yelped, and jumped to the ground. She might have stepped out a little too quickly, because her dress skirt got caught in a large sword sticking out from a stout man's chest, and she tumbled to the floor. She barely felt it when she crashed to the hard ground, although, if this were real life, she would be screaming as a jagged edge caught on her arm, scratching at her skin._

_Not even bothering to check for blood—if she could even feel that at all, either—she shot her head up to watch the blue-skinned people staring at her. There wasn't even a clack, as the skeletons that had held her up slumped their arms, and looked her way. No one breathed or blinked._

_ Biting her lip, she lifted her arm, and she swore she almost felt her eye pop all the way out of her sockets. The skin on her arm—the one that had caught on the jagged corner of the floor—was as blue as a summer sky, and as unscathed as if there hadn't even been an accident. And when she lifted her hair to eye-level, she felt her insides constrict tightly, even though she couldn't feel her stomach churning._

_There were worse things at hand than just aliens._

_They were corpses. And she was one of them._

_The seconds that passed slowed to a considerable pace, as if time had been frozen over, and only her brain moved normally. There were no comprehensible thoughts that whirred across her conscious mind- only babble and random images that flashed like dull lightning and flew like a fast-motion film. And somehow, at the same time, she could see everything—her parents, her bedroom at home, the bright summer days spent outside—all in the dank, washy color her skin had become. _

_Without even thinking, she placed her hand over her chest. Half of her screamed inside to feel the icy cold of her dead heart, and not the familiar thump of blood coursing through. She blanched, throwing her head forward, and her long, dark blue hair slapped onto the floor. The shock was so great, the blanch so forceful, that she waited for her stomach to toss something up her throat, or for her strength to give way and simply fall back to sleep. She heaved herself off the ground, waiting for the acid to pile at the back of her throat, to feel the sickening sensation of her insides contracting, and wake her up from this hallucination._

_Before she could throw herself back to the ground, the large lady with the bubbly voice rushed to her, grabbing her by the arm. There was a gasp while the girl gazed at the large lady's chest, pointing a shaking finger at her._

"_Your breast!" she said. "The skin's gone! Oh my god, I…I-I can see the bones, I…"_

"_Quiet yourself, child," the lady said firmly, taking the girl and putting her in a chair. She called to a little purple head on the bar top, and, carrying himself on a whole colony of skittering beetles, whistled shrilly. More beetles transported a large, ornate mug filled with a smooth, beige liquid, and pushed it into the large lady's hand._

"_Drink now," she commanded, placing the drink into the girl's shaking hands._

"_No!" the girl said hysterically. "You're all dead! I'm only dreaming! I don't want to drink! No, I want to wake up!" Quickly, she banged her head against the back of the chair. "Wake up, wake up, wake up!" she ranted. _Why can't I feel anything? _she thought, only giving herself harder shoves to the chair. The drink rattled in her hand, almost spilling over while the large lady tried to keep her still._

"_Dear, come now, come now!" _

_Still, the girl would not stop crying, banging her head on the chair even harder._

_Frowning, the large lady drew her hand back. She didn't like having to do this, but this child was having the worst case of pro-death hysterics she'd seen in a long time. Only a swift hand to the cheek could bring her back…_

_Before she could think twice, the lady brought her hand to the girl's cheek, leaving a harsh blue mark on it while the girl shrieked in surprise. She jolted from the cry so quickly that her hand lashed out, knocking her drink off the chair arm. The mug clattered loudly to the floor, and the sandy liquid splashed in an elaborate puddle, causing some of the women in the room to yelp before they stepped back._

"_Now, listen up, my child," the lady said. "I won't guess what you are thinking, though I know it must be nasty. Don't be afraid. We won't hurt you. We are all here to celebrate your coming into our world- the Land of the Dead."_

"_I-I-I…" The girl couldn't bring herself to say it._

"_Afraid so, child. You are dead," the lady murmured, patting the girl affectionately on her shoulder. "Now, please. My name is Plum. Miss Plum, dear. Can you tell me what your name is?"_

_The girl opened her mouth right away, as it was a natural question. But suddenly, her mind went blank, though not before she had spoken._

"_Alyssa," she said. __"No, um, Lola? __Er, Connie? Erm…"_

"_Oh, no," Miss Plum whispered, feeling more than slightly alarmed that the girl couldn't guess her name. She stood straight up again, holding the girl's hand tightly. "Child, come with me. We're going to Elder Gutknecht straight away."_

…

_Moments later, Miss Plum was escorting the girl down a winding road under a darkening sky. The girl was still crying a little, although she wasn't sobbing like a little child. It felt kind of strange, but she was glad, more than anything, that Miss Plum was there with her. She led the girl along with a gentle hand, although she was firm in getting to the tower ahead as fast as the two of them were able. They said no words to each other, just walking down the path until they had reached the cracking staircase that disappeared into dimness above their heads._

_ "Don't shake like that," Miss Plum said to the girl. "Elder Gutknecht has always known what ails a dead man—er, woman—when they arrive. He's just as kind a soul as I am."_

_ "You sure he can help me—a nameless girl?" she asked._

_ Miss Plum nodded, before she hastily pushed the girl up the stairs, only ceasing the rough movements when they were at the top. They were surrounded by tall piles of books, most of them scattered around the decaying floor, with a great dome of broken glass allowing them to see the dark night sky. A high podium looked down over the scene, while some loose papers fluttered across the floor in a wind from outside. It was like the library of a wizard, because the books were ancient-looking, some of them covered with dust, their desks littered with abstract bottles full of peculiar substances._

_ "Gutknecht!" Miss Plum screeched out into the tower. "You in here? Oh, come on now! I won't have you out of here when a new arrival is in desperate need! Ah, you heartless old—"_

_ "You call for me, Miss Plum?" _

_ Miss Plum and the girl gasped when, out of the shadows, a withering old skeleton with a cracked skull, delicate bronze spectacles, and a walking stick made from a bone, walked out from the shadows. This short skeleton looked like he had been born in the dinosaur era, his bones probably about to crack at any second, the long hairs of his graying beard hanging like matted fur from his chin. _

_ "Ah, yes," he said, coughing just a bit. "I'd know that voice anywhere. Good to be seeing you, Miss Plum. Who did you bring with you?"_

_ Miss Plum pulled the girl forward, presenting her to Elder Gutknecht. "This is a new arrival, as I have told you," she answered. "She's a lovely young thing, isn't she? Just like our corpse bride, yes? But, oh, dear me, it's a shame. The poor thing was in hysterics when she learned what she is here for, and she cannot seem to remember her name, or what caused her to come to us!"_

_ Elder Gutknecht, humming in a low, thoughtful monotone, looked up at the girl. He adjusted his spectacles, and scratched at his skull, which pulled apart when he touched it. The girl smiled and chuckled nervously, trying not to look repulsed by this odd sight. _

_ "Ah, yes, I can see," Elder Gutknecht said, leaning on his walking stick. "Well, thank you for your services to her, Miss Plum. I'll take care of this child."_

_ "I knew we could count on you, you ole' coot," Miss Plum said playfully, winking her eye at him and patting the girl's shoulder, before she sauntered out the door to the stairs._

_ Elder Gutknecht refocused his attention, chuckling. "Do you like Miss Plum, my dear?" he wanted to know._

_ The girl nodded her head and grinned, if just a little uncertainly._

_ "Yes, she's a good lady," he agreed. "She always cares for the scared, young ones like you. As do I, from time to time."_

_ "What is this place?" the girl wanted to know. "I've never seen such odd, um, ingredients"—she motioned with her head towards the bubbling substances in the bottles on the desks—"before. What do you do up here?"_

_ "I'm a practitioner, of sorts, of the supernatural Arts," he said. "I heal, I conjure, but mostly, I study, until someone needs me. And now, I see that you need my assistance."_

_ "Yes," the girl agreed._

_ "So, you cannot remember your name, or anything before you came to the Land of the Dead," Elder Gutknecht said thoughtfully. "Well, if that is the case, it seems to be something that, in actuality, isn't very rare here—amnesia."_

_ "Amnesia?" The girl put her hands to her temples, as if she were remembering something. She nodded, ever so slightly, after a moment. Yes, she did seem to remember that word. But now, if only she could just remember her name…oh, it was so frustrating…!_

_ "Now try to think for a moment," Elder Gutknecht told her calmly. "Do you recall any sounds, or letters, perhaps, from your name?"_

_ The girl closed her eyes, trying to think. She remembered the random names she had given Miss Plum when she was first asked, but those were all the good ones she could think of. Everything else she tried only made things come to her in a blur._

_ Elder Gutknecht only looked on gently, not saying any words._

_ "La…Lola…Cole…Nina…" The girl spoke softly under her breath, her eyes shut so tightly that her eyelashes were invisible._

_ Finally, she opened her eyes and looked, defeated, at Elder Gutknecht._

_ "That's all," she said, shrugging her shoulders. "Everything else is pretty blurry."_

_ Elder Gutknecht scratched his skull again, murmuring in the same monotone as before. "I see," he said. "Well, what if we came up with a name that sounds most like what you can remember? In time, perhaps you shall recall it."_

_ Once more, the girl shut her eyes, and went back over the sounds she had spoken aloud. None of them were quite satisfactory, but she was quickly growing tired of not knowing who she was. The frustration was boiling—how was it there when her heart was not beating?—and now, more and more sounds were coming to mind, flooding her brain more easily than before. Maybe it was the strong desire to remember, or her overriding uneasiness at not knowing her real name, but in any case, she was getting there…_

_ "Dear…" Elder Gutknecht said gently when the girl had been quiet for a long time._

_ "Kiki."_

_ "What was that, dear?"_

_ "Kiki," the girl said. "That sounds the closest to my name that I can think of."_

_ Elder Gutknecht reached up, and clasped the girl's hand proudly. "Very well, then. Welcome to the Land of the Dead, Kiki."_

_ She grinned._

_ "Now, you can run back to the pub," Elder Gutknecht said gently. "Maybe some happy times will jog your memory."_

_ "Thank you so much," Kiki said gently, before she walked back to the pub, her spirits all anew. For the first time since she died, she felt in control, if it was just a little bit. Having a name to call herself by felt wonderful. It wasn't quite fully satisfying, but it was something at least. _

_ She was already at the pub door, however, before she could dwell on any coming memories, and the skeleton with the bowler hat was already asking her if he could make a song out of her story… _


	2. Piano Lesson

**Chapter 1 (Victor)**

If there is one thing I will never understand about a piano is, how they can so easily speak to whoever is playing it. Even if someone just happens to slip onto the keys, and they don't even try to make music, it still is something breathtaking.

I truthfully do not know. Perhaps it is because it is so wonderful to get lost inside the soft melody, seeming to feel that whatever happens beneath your fingers is connecting with you in some way.

But this feeling is still rather new to me. Up until two years ago, I had never touched a piano. I knew that they were glorious instruments to listen to, and yet, I never thought they would be so thrilling to play.

It's a beautiful memory, in the least.

The day I was supposed to meet my bride-to-be, Victoria, I walked inside her family's house as a gentleman should- head held high, and hands placed behind my back. But inside, I felt as though I was striding towards the edge of a deep cliff, and not at all ready to fall into it. For a long time, I'd been trying to avoid the journey towards that cliff, but I didn't have a piano to take me away from earth.

Instead, I drew pictures. And I enjoyed it more than anything else at the time. There was something so simple, and at the same time thrilling, about it. As far as I knew, not many young men like me could- much less wanted to- draw. I saw beauty in it, and did it as often as I could.

As much as I loved to draw, I didn't like that I was the only one who seemed to express any interest in it. Of course, there was a museum in the middle of the city that was full of it, but the only time I went there, it was empty as a churchyard. It was sad and lonely, and I felt very sorry about all the artwork on display there. It was truly a shame not seeing more people relishing in them as I did.

But then, I met Victoria.

When I first saw her, she was just a picture out of the corner of my eye while I played on her family's piano. But she frightened me so much I literally fell out of my seat, and almost knocked a little flower from its vase. Even when she looked right at me afterwards, I was afraid to speak or move, for fear I would do something even sillier than what I just did. So I just picked up the bench, and hoped I could walk away.

But then, I heard her voice, telling me how she wished she could play the piano; her mother apparently didn't like music. I snapped my head up at her when she said that. My first impression of her mother was that she was uptight and stiff, but that a woman was never allowed to play a piano was quite sad in any case.

It was when she told me her name, that my heart started to go out to her.

"Victor, how beautiful."

My heart skips a beat, causing me to jump up a few inches on the piano bench. My fingers jab down on the keys, and a high, sour note echoes through the room while I turn around. I wince, regretting my reaction, even though it is only my wife standing behind me with a smile on her face.

She puts one hand to her lips, and giggles gently. "Oh, Victor, dear, you haven't changed a bit," she says, laying her other hand on my shoulder. "I apologize for scaring you, but that is simply lovely. Why I don't think I've heard everything that beautiful since the day we met."

I look at the piano, and then back at Victoria. "Do you think so?" I murmur.

"Of course," she says, sitting down beside me on the bench. Just like on that day, she runs her hands along the keys, but does not press them down. "It's funny, isn't it? We've been husband and wife for two years, and I haven't played this piano. Not once."

My eyes snap open wider. "Why?" I ask her.

Victoria shrugs, letting her slender fingers rest on some of the keys. "It's hard to say," she answers. "I thought that I was dreaming watching you play the day we met, but I never thought I would spend the rest of my life with someone so wonderfully talented. I suppose that it's still a surprise to me, knowing that I can at last play something so beautiful. It's…frightening."

Once more, I look at the large, childlike eyes of my wife, and then at the piano keys. That is surprising to me, that two years have gone by, and she has never played. I think back to the first time I met her parents, and how difficult it was for either one of them to smile, or laugh. My shoulders slump when I imagine Victoria as a young girl, wanting to just touch the piano, but her parents looking down on her sweet face with their hard eyes.

What's even more amazing is that, even with a loving husband telling her to play all she wishes, for as long as two years, her parents' strict upbringing is still ringing in her mind.

Well, then again, I am her husband. We may have the rest of our lives together, but playing the piano doesn't have to wait.

I press some of the keys, and let my mind and heart do the playing. Victoria watches while I play just a couple of notes, nothing too complex. When I grin at her, she tentatively looks at the keys, and presses down. Her lips start to make a smile, but it doesn't glow quite yet.

I play another set of notes, and again, she follows me, but is still a little shy. We play together a third time, and a fourth. But still, the nervous half-smile hasn't turned into the smile I want to see.

Taking a breath, I look at Victoria until she is looking back at me. Then, I play some more notes, but much more gently. "Breathe deep breaths, Victoria," I tell her. "You have to feel the music. It's easier if you can hear the music in your mind."

Victoria follows me, taking in some long breaths. But when she puts her hands back on the piano, she still cannot shake off the expression on her face.

"It's not that easy, Victor," she whispers. "I was told that playing music, as a lady, was not acceptable. You know that, don't you?"

"I do," I say, "but here in our home, music is a part of life. It's a part of me." And, right then and there, I know just might help Victoria.

I hold out my hand to her, but Victoria still appears to be scared before she looks right at me. The smile widens on her face slowly, and she reaches to grasp my hand. Her own hand is warm, and the touch of her skin is tingling, reminding me of a winter fire. For a moment, it is hard to remember what I want to try and teach her; Victoria has a beautiful smile, a rare one among every woman I've ever seen before.

"Breathe deeply," I gently tell her. "Listen for the music."

Surely enough, Victoria slowly blows air in and out through her lips. She even closes her eyes, and I start to feel her heartbeat slowing down. It pulses hard, but also gently against her skin, and inside me, I can feel my own heartbeat start to speed up. It is good to hold something so precious.

A note breaks the silence, and I gasp to look up, and notice that Victoria's hand is still on top of the keys. Her fingers are pressing onto them, one by one, making a scale, and then starting to mix them up.

I leap to tell Victoria how wonderfully she is doing, but quickly stop myself when I watch what she does next. Her hands move to a different place on the keyboard, and her fingers play a different set of notes. She moves again, and once more, doesn't play a scale, but something more complex.

"That's beautiful," I whisper.

"That's lovely," Victoria says at the same moment.

She finally opens her eyes, and looks back at me. "Thank you, Victor," she says, squeezing my hand tighter. "I-I…I don't know what else to say."

"I like your enthusiasm," I say, squeezing her hand back.

Victoria's face goes bright red. But she gasps suddenly, and puts her hand to her cheek, shuddering when she feels her face.

I laugh, sweeping the fringe of brown hair from my face, and take hold of Victoria's hand in both of mine. "Would you like to make your own music again?" I ask her.

"Can you help me again?" Victoria asks, her large eyes full of longing.

It is hard to resist such a lovely expression, but I manage to tell myself otherwise.

"I'll stay here," I tell her, "but I won't hold your hand."


	3. Kiki's Secret Wish

**Chapter 2 (Kiki)**

"Wake up, Kiki, dear."

A cold, blue hand caresses the fading green-blue of Kiki's dress, and she begins to stir, stretching up from the withering coffin she uses for a bed. She grunts as she sits up from the red upholstery, tossing the sheets from over her.

"There, there, no need to hurry," Miss Plum says gently. "I thought you would want to be up in time to see the new arrivals."

Kiki sits upright, freezing her position before she steps to the ground. "You think there will be anyone my age?" she asks.

"I can't predict the future," Miss Plum answers helplessly. "Although I don't wish I could. If Elder Gutknecht chose to, that would be his job. Ha, that silly little coot." Her belly shakes while she chuckles heartily.

Kiki laughs, while Miss Plum raises her up from her coffin-bed.

"Can you give me a minute, though, Miss Plum?" Kiki asks, brushing her hair from her face.

Miss Plum grins sweetly, and kisses Kiki on her cheek. "Of course, my dear. Take as long as you need."

Miss Plum turns the corner not too far from the coffin, and Kiki sits down at a little vanity she had made from items she found around her bed. The mirror is broken, but was still clean enough for Kiki to use. It is propped up on an old, broken tricycle, right alongside a tall side table.

Delicately, Kiki smoothes out her torn skirt and peers at her reflection in the glass. Sure enough there is her bright blue face, with the lonely eyes an alabaster white. Her lips are still pink, but there is a little wear-and-tear in her skin now. She pokes her cheeks in some places, and her skin feels as thin as tissue paper. With an unsure chuckle, she admits that even after all this time, it is still tempting to see how far she can poke without breaking through to her bones. But she doesn't touch her skin.

Instead, she picks up a chipped brush from the side table, and runs it through her hair. It is still soft, but it had lost its shine the day she came here. She has to be very careful if she hits a snag spot, otherwise the hair will come out more easily. Kiki doesn't need to remind herself of what might happen if she tugs too hard at it. She is dead, after all; she will never get any taller, her fingernails never need trimming, and her hair will certainly not grow anymore. Even now she still can't believe things like that; maybe she should ask Miss Plum how long it took for her to forget about the normal ways of living.

Kiki shakes her head, pushing some more of the dark blue hair from her face. It is truly hard for her to forget about her life. A couple of years have passed, and sometimes she still wakes up thinking that being dead was all a dream. But is it normal for the dead to not quite want everlasting peace, after so many years?

Does time really matter at all, when you're dead?

Taking a final run through her hair, Kiki parts the strands just right, and sweeps it again from her eyes. Peering closer at the mirror, she grins wider, noticing how touched up she looks now. She frowns at her jawbone and her cheeks, wishing that maybe she hadn't poked so much at her decaying skin. Growing holes in one's cheeks doesn't look very appealing, even if you were dead, but, maybe she is just thinking too hard.

Hence the occasional wishing she could still be alive.

But, what exactly did it feel like- to be alive?

Kiki slams her brush down on the table. She has spent so long being dead, and has wondered so much about life. Would it even be prudent to ask Miss Plum these questions, after being dead for so long.

Still, Kiki can't bring herself to forget what special day might be coming, if her internal clock is correct; Kiki had found out quickly that there were no clocks in this place. Apparently, not as many people care about it as Kiki does.

In just a few days, it will be her twenty-first birthday. Well, anyway, as far as she could remember.

Miss Plum had explained to her that birthdays weren't always celebrated for the dead, but that she would gladly do so for Kiki if she asked. Kiki had been excited about the idea of a party for her- as well as simply a day to celebrate with her new friends- so she decided to pick a date. In light of this unexpected idea, Elder Gutknecht had almost broken all his brittle bones to scrap up an ancient-looking calendar for her. Still, Kiki had been ecstatic, and Elder Gutknecht could finally mend himself back together before he became a skeletal puzzle.

Kiki had spent days and days lulling over the calendar, straining herself to remember what those days had been like. She read and reread the names of the months, and the holidays written into specific dates, but it was hard to come up with anything. Finally, at the pressing of Miss Plum, she resorted to just picking which day, in which month, sounded best to her.

She picked March, because it sounded sweet, but powerful. And then she picked the fifteenth, because, paired with March, it sounded pretty even, for no true reason.

The date even carried some power in itself. After she had declared her choice of birthday to Miss Plum and Elder Gutknecht, there was an uncomfortable, airy feeling that came with saying it. It was like the date was a memory out of a dream, and even after two years of using it, she still can't figure it out.

In any case, she plans to celebrate her birthday, even if it isn't custom for the dead to feast upon the day. It is perhaps one of the few things she can almost remember about life. And she wants to hold onto it as best she can, before it is taken away by her dying brain.

Kiki stands up from her vanity, and starts for her coffin-bed again. She straightens the sheets, so that they hang just right over the edge of the coffin. Then she walks past it to a rotting chest placed beside her pillow.

Unhooking the latch on the chest lid, she pulls out her secret hoard for her next birthday.

Inside, there is a blue dress, nearly brand-new, with no holes or tears. Kiki smiles at it, feeling the excitement building, although she can't feel the silk of the dress's skirt. She turns it over and over in her hands, and closes her eyes for a moment. It's an amazing power that the dead have, she thinks, to still be able to imagine things. So she puts it to the best of use- to see herself dressed in such finery, after her green-blue dress has been withering away for so long. For a moment, she is almost tempted to tear her old dress right off her body, and step into something so beautiful.

Kiki throws the dress back in the chest before she changes her mind, and shuts the lid, hooking the latch while she shoves it back in place beside her bed.

"I can't wait," she whispers, taking a deep, reassuring breath, even though she doesn't need it. "I just hope that everyone will be willing to share it with me."

She stands up, and walks around the corner, taking the long winding roads and alleyways, to finally reach the Eye and Socket Pub.


	4. New Thoughts

**Chapter 3 (Victor)**

The shine in Victoria's eyes is extraordinary, and it is not just from the sunlight all around the piano.

Since we sat together at the piano not too long ago, she has almost never left the bench. Her hands are waving across the keys, while the music sounds inside of her. Like me, she doesn't always watch herself play. Her eyes are closed, listening entirely to what she feels.

As I watch her from the doorway into the drawing room, I cannot help but smile at her, as I've never seen her look more confident. I knew she could do it.

When finally her fingers stop moving, she takes a moment to breathe. She lifts her slender hands to sweep her hair aside, even though it looks perfectly all right. In the gentle light coming through the window above the piano, when she raises her hands, she looks like a young angel stretching from sleep.

Well, that is, if angels could look as delicate as she does.

She looks so at peace while she sits at the piano, that I don't dare speak, for fear of scaring her like she so often does to me. Instead, I just watch as she slowly puts her hands on the piano to hoist herself onto her feet. Her skirt is large and full, so it takes her some time to squeeze out, but not much later, she is striding away, her hands at her waist, and her head poised straightly on her neck.

I chuckle when I watch her come towards me. Her stride is dreamy, and her eyes are still closed.

I hold out my hand, and when she comes close enough, I reach to grasp her. I'm careful to not crush her fingers too tightly while I tug her forward, and into my other arm, holding her gently at her tiny waist. Gasping, Victoria opens her eyes, and blinks a couple of times, while I give her a sweet smile. Before long, she raises her lips in a grin, cuddling closer into my arms.

"I did not know I had such a good audience," she whispers, putting her hand flat on my chest.

"Well, how could anyone stay away from that?" I ask, looking at the empty piano bench, and the black and white keys glowing against the dark wood.

Victoria doesn't say anything. She simply keeps her bright eyes locked on mine, and her smile grows wider, more angelic.

"I owe such beauty to you, Victor," she says. "I truly appreciate what you did for me. It was so hard to forget everything my parents said." She exhales deeply, and giggles just a little. "The piano is a gift. A truly wonderful one."

"You're welcome," I whisper.

The draw between our gazes is strong, and it feels like neither of us want to look away. I know that I can't; the rosy glow that has come to Victoria's cheeks is beautiful, and even after all our time together, feeling her never fails to be enchanting.

She cranes her head towards mine, parting her lips only slightly. I don't hesitate to follow her lead; I bend my face to meet hers, preparing for another warm rush of pleasure.

"Oh, that reminds me."

Victoria's sudden remark snaps me from the haze inside my head, and I blink a few times to readjust to real life again. "Wh-what?" I stutter, loosening my grip on her waist.

"While you were upstairs, in the studio, a messenger came by with a letter for us."

"Oh? For what?"

"It was from your parents."

Something flares up inside me. I'm all-too used to my parents sending us messages; ever since the wedding, they have sent letter after letter wishing us well, and wondering how we are getting along. But there is something in Victoria's voice that means there is something more at hand than just another greeting.

"Did you read it?" I ask.

"Yes, I did," she replies. "It's in the dining room." She lets go of me, and starts for the dining room down the hall, with me right behind her. Quickly, she picks up the creased piece of paper from the table, and hands it to me, discreetly placing her hands behind her back, while I read.

"_Dearest Victor and Miss Victoria,_

_Good god, how two years have gone by so quickly! Has it really been that long since we watched you take one another as husband and wife? Victor, you never looked so handsome, and Victoria was such a radiant flower. _

_Well, we think it's a shame that you couldn't come and visit us sooner on your anniversary, so that is why we are giving you both a special surprise._

_At five o'clock pm on the first of March, we are inviting you to a tiny get-together at our esteemed home, to celebrate these two years of prosperity. We have sent out invitations to all our relatives, including the Everglots, but, unfortunately we haven't heard from any of them as of now. (How shameful that would be if half of our family could not come to celebrate the two of you…)_

_In any case, we're saving some of our best wines, and ordering some glorious new crumpets and cheeses for the occasion. We would like nothing but the very, very best for the both of you._

_Best wishes, _

_Mr. and Mrs. William Van Dort"_

So, that's what all this fuss is about. A party to celebrate me and Victoria's anniversary; one that which, as of now, has no guests, yet they want to start popping out the bottles of wine. When I'm done reading the letter, I don't know whether I should frown at such abrupt plans; or to grin at the thought of celebrating two years of happiness with Victoria- even if it is with a roomful of my relatives and Victoria's stiff family.

Of course, it is not that I wouldn't enjoy having them around to be there with us. But it would surely make for an interesting evening.

"What do you think?" Victoria wonders out loud. "It sounds like a wonderful idea to me."

I don't answer for a long moment, while I ponder an evening with my parents hosting a party with two entirely different families. It was interesting enough during the wedding reception; my mother could not stop spilling stories about what amusing mishaps I had when I was a boy, and Victoria's relatives never said a word to them- carrying on their traditional frowns. Still, many of my relatives managed to make some jokes that got back some laughter, and after some time dancing, we had a hard time sitting still again.

I suppose that if my family wasn't running this get-together, it would be, in the slightest bit, dull. I would just have to ask my mother to watch closely what she relays to the guests about me.

"It sounds good enough to me," I finally reply, and Victoria smiles.

"The first of March isn't that long to wait, Victor," she says. "I've checked the calendar. The party is just six days away."

"Very good, then," I say, setting the letter back on the table. "We can ask our coachman to prepare for the ride there-"

"Yes, but we'll have to pick up Bernie, we mustn't forget."

I turn back around, and look between Victoria and the letter. "Bernie? Oh, you mean my cousin, Bernie?"

"That is who he is, isn't he?" Victoria asks, handing the letter back to me. "Read what it says."

I read the letter over again, but don't find any instance of my cousin called Bernie in it. Then, I stop abruptly when I notice a short note near my parents' signatures.

"_P.S. You will have to drop by your cousin Bernie's place and bring him to the party. Apparently the poor chap had an accident trying to drive his own carriage, but we shouldn't go into the details. You will find him on the western part of the city, just a few miles past the clearing by the forest, at 245 North Road. You'll both be such dears in doing us this favor, and we are excited to see you soon._"

"What a surprise," I say, looking a little lopsidedly at the note. If there was one thing I knew about my cousin Bertie, he was the most adventurous member of my family, getting himself into more accidents than I ever did. But while I didn't talk to him very much, I knew him well enough to know that a simple carriage ride to my parents' house would be a journey in itself.

…

The first of March came around faster than even Victoria seemed to have expected. But she surprised me yet again; by the end of the day before, she was playing all across the keyboard, in long, varying pieces. With each tap of the keys, she swayed her shoulders and even nodded her head. She was even more into the music than I could ever remember being, but once more, I was proud of how far she had come in so little time.

Perhaps she will be able to play with me- that is, if my parents had ever managed to get their own piano.

While we walk outside to the carriage, I try to soften her up to the fact that my parents might not have a piano. She smiles and nods through it all, but I still hope that neither of us will be set up for disappointment.

We don't speak very much while we slowly drive through the streets, which are covered with half-melted ice puddles. Victoria keeps staring out through the window, readjusting her shawl and twirling tendrils of her hair, while we start into the part of the city that Bernie lives in.

The carriage rolls through another street, which seems darker than the previous ones we were just in. Of course, this is a dark city in the first place, but this has a frightening feel to it.

The cobblestones are littered with abandoned baskets and carts, their handles and contents coming apart at the seams. The streetlights haven't been lit yet but I doubt that even with their flames, they would give off very much light. Against the last trace of light in the sky, the lamp cages appear grimy and greasy, looking as though perhaps they'll fall to the ground any second.

"Goodness," Victoria whispers. "Whatever do you suppose happened here?"

"It's nothing I want to think about," I answer, tearing myself away from the window. The truth is that my mind seems to wrap itself around the very thing. There's something about this part of town that, although I've barely been down here, is nibbling at my mind. I wonder if maybe I saw a place like this in a dream- or a memory from a dream. I cannot place it, but something is for certain.

I've been here before, in almost that exact place under the buckling streetlamps, and around these grim looking houses, which also look as though they will crumble to pieces.

I bite my lip in surprise when the carriage grinds to a halt, and out through my window, I can see the red-headed, gap-toothed face of Bernie, dressed in a creamy white suit, and a dark green tie.

The coachman steps down, and opens the door for him as he climbs in, and sits across from me and Victoria. He sits very, very still, until the coach rattles across the streets again. But when I look out the window again, I'm surprised to see that the dirty houses and ratty streetlamps have almost gone. We are moving back into the wealthier part of the city.

"My good cousin, Victor," Bernie says, spreading his arms wide and smiling all the way to his ears. "It's been so long. How have you been getting along? I- oh- oh, I see you brought along your beautiful bride. Um, Victoria, I believe?"

"Yes, you can call me by that," Victoria says, bowing her head gently to acknowledge him; Bernie reaches to take her hand, and places a sloppy kiss on her hand. She discreetly wipes her hand on the seat when he lets her go, grinning sweetly back at him.

I don't have much of a mind to talk; my mind is still wrapped tightly around the slums we drove through. I'm burying deep into my memory, and any dreams I might have recently slept through, but nothing is coming to me. I bite hard on my lip, even though it still stings from when the carriage stopped. Just, what on earth is going on?

"Hello, Victor, ole chap," Bernie says loudly. "What's the matter? You're lookin' a little…um, pale. Oh, wait, you're always pale. But not like _that_."

"Victor, are you listening?" Victoria adds, and I can distinctly feel her hand touching my shoulder with warm concern. "Are you all right? Shall we just head for home?"

I can hear every word they're saying to me, but I can't bring myself to answer. Just something about that lonely corner street struck me. It's already driving me mad not knowing how or why I somehow know it…

"What's wrong, you scared about going to your own anniversary party?" Bernie asks, chuckling. But then he clears his throat and pauses before speaking again. "Ah, let me have a guess. You've never seen such a slummy part of the city like that, have you? I know, I know it. That's the greatest story spot for scandals around here."

"Scandals?" Victoria asks.

"'Course," Bernie answers. "In fact, only recently, there's a story going around the houses, selling like hot cakes at a carnival. Not exactly a scandal, but somethin' worth your ears, I think."

"Must we hear it?" Victoria doesn't sound very sure.

"If it will get Victor away from the window, and back to this earth, then surely."

I pull my face away from the window, and readjust my position, sitting back into the upholstery. "Go on, then," I say.

Bernie readjusts himself as well, and leans forward towards me and Victoria.

"You see, there was, once upon a time, a pair of lovers. They seemed to be pretty well off together, but, as the two of you can imagine, this was not exactly a glass-slipper kind of fairy tale.

"The man, although he cared deeply for his lass, had to leave her for some time. He never said where or for how long, but he had never left her like that before. All his pretty lady knew, was that she couldn't be left alone without her beloved crusader by her side." He pauses for a moment, but neither I nor Victoria say anything.

"The man was simply going away- to visit someone, some believe. But, that poor little lady. She begged, and begged, for him not to leave her; she dragged the floor after him so far, and so long, that her blood soaked her dress. And no matter how hard that bloke tried to shake her off, she refused to leave him. Her love was just too great, to allow him time away from her- no matter how short it would be.

"But that man. Well, he may have been prettily polished on the outside. But there was something a' boiling inside o' his aging heart. That strong lady clinging to him was giving him headaches with her crying, and her tears. She jolly well ruined every one of his best suits with her hysterics, and that was not suitable for business abroad."

"So…then, what happened?" Victoria whispers, though no one seems to hear her.

"Well, I'll tell you. This man absolutely could not bear to hear the crying any longer, but he certainly could not take her with him. So, then, on the day he was departing, he marched right into the drawing room of their house. And all through that time, the lady still clung to him like honey to a hive. He plopped his bags down upon the floor, and reached up to the fireplace, wherein was located a long, jagged sword…"

Victoria gasps and shoves her face into my arm, while Bernie's voice gets louder and louder.

"Stop that!" I command, a little louder than I intended, and Bernie quickly sits back down, folding his hands in his lap like a proper gentleman.

He simply nods at Victoria, who still cowers against me. "Exactly, Miss Victoria," he whispers. "The man ran her through, and ran off to catch his boat. She was left to die in a bloody pool in that room, and wasn't found for some time, before they buried her in the woods. After that, no one saw, or heard from that man again."

"How awful," Victoria sobs. "What a horrid man! Oh, that poor woman. If only she had been able to get away while she could…"

"Blinded by love," Bernie says. "And carried away from here to sleep in her bloody grave. Heaven knows where her killer is, but even I wouldn't go chasing after him just to get rid of him…"

Bernie's voice fades into the background, so that he barely seems to speak anymore. If I was distracted before, now it's as though I'm not in the carriage anymore. My mind has wandered so far away, that I'm stiff in my seat, not moving a bit, as thoughts whirl through me like a storm. I've never felt so strong a feeling of knowing, for something so disturbing or unfamiliar.

But, is it _really_ unfamiliar, if I feel so strongly like I know it? This is not just the kind of feeling that I can brush off like a fly. Something has got to be done about it.

But, what exactly?

Then, just outside the carriage window, something is delicately fluttering overhead. When I strain for a closer look, I make it out to be a moth- with blue wings that have little white spots on each part of them.

What's it doing here?

"Ow!"

Victoria whips around, and pulls me away from the window. "Please answer me, Victor, what is happening? Are you sure you don't want to go home and rest?"

I wince, and put my hand to my forehead, where I banged my head against the window. That moth startled me, but so did that jolt against the glass; I lean back against my seat, and sigh deeply, while Victoria and Bernie just stare at me.

"Drive on," I answer, though I'm still not entirely there in the carriage with them.

I know I drew that moth before; I kept that picture in my sketchbook.

But then, I watched one fly across the moon, while a blue-skinned woman in a torn wedding dress danced around me; how she tried to make me join her.

I saw her tender body become thousands of those tiny moths, and how they floated away towards the moon, while Victoria and I watched her fly to her resting place…

I can only just remember what I'm jabbering about to myself, but there's suddenly one last thought that refuses to leave me.

I'll have to go back to the woods. To the graveyard.


	5. Haunted

**Chapter 5 (Victor)**

Although I was surrounded by laughter, and clanking of glasses of wine, I never saw my mind slip away from that story Bernie told me and Victoria. I can't say that being around so many jolly people made it any easier- the moment Mother and Father's good wines were passed around, I was the first to sip, although I'm not exactly one to drink.

I guess it was fortunate that I had such a good conscience about the wine, otherwise more than just forgetting that story might have happened.

In any case, I found myself with dark circles under my eyes this morning. Nothing has ever bothered me more in my sleep than that story, and besides that, I was digging even further through my memory to find some clues. I know first-hand that I'll have to return to the graveyard in the woods. But it's certainly easier said than done trying to reach the dead, also considering how frightening some of them are.

While Victoria walks back to the piano, I find that I'm only sitting still at the table. While dishes and silverware are being cleaned up around me, I can only stare at the wall, with my chin in my hands. It's simply amazing; why is it that I cannot remember something so extraordinary and unusual? Of course, it was something that frightened me beyond anything, but also awakened feelings that I'd never felt before.

There was even something about the dead woman, who had danced in the moonlight. She was innocent, and carefree, when she felt as though there were someone special to embrace her. There was…beauty…passion…

…just, _how_ did she take me below, to the grave?

Without any conscious thought, I bang my head on the table. What is happening? How can I be remembering this all now?

The churning in my stomach is hard to stop, making me feel dizzy, while I raise my head from the table. But my mind is turning faster, and I'm wondering what sorts of things could have been in that special wine my parents reserved for the party. Maybe that's the reason why that story can't get away from me.

I try to take a breath, and shake my head to clear all thoughts, tensing my fingers against the edges of the table. Still, Bernie's voice tears through my mind, and I'm stiff all over. No matter how hard I try to block myself against those words- and the image of the woman, bleeding through to her dress- I cannot bring myself to move an inch from where I sit.

Victoria was right. What kind of man would do such a thing to the woman he was in love with? That woman would truly have to love him back to shed some blood for him…before he ran her through with a sword…

I close my eyes against that one explicit thought, though it is the one that refuses to let go of me the most. It runs through my mind over and over- the blade splicing through the woman's stomach, the red spilling over her beautiful dress, her eyes opening wide as she feels the pain…a voice yelling her name, though no clear name comes to mind at that instant…

Would I even _know_ that woman's name, if I really thought about it?

I clamp my teeth together, and pinch the bridge of my nose between my fingers. Nothing I do erases my thoughts. And I still cannot believe I may have to return to that graveyard. What sort of help can it be, when I do not even know how I can reach the dead?

How did it come to that, anyway?

"Master Victor," a servant's meek voice asks from the doorway to the kitchen. "Is there anything I can get for you? You've been sitting quite like a statue, you have."

"No, I'm all right," I answer, not even looking at the servant, before she ducks back out of sight. I don't even hear the door close before I am shut back into my prison of thought.

But this time, when I think back to the graveyard, I remember the figure of a beautiful woman, once more set against the light of the moon. Her torn, weathered veil flies like a curtain, while she reaches a bony hand towards me, while I'm stuck against the gravestone that blocks my escape from her…

Oh. Oh my. What is this?

There she is again- the woman in the torn wedding dress. The darkness is going away while she pulls herself from the ground, clawing at the snow surrounding her grave. I'm caught up in the horror again. The dead can't rise from the grave, but surely enough, she is standing up in the snow.

And suddenly, there is a sparkle of gold against her bony left hand.

That is where I shake my head again, the rush of the memory making me shiver enough to shake the chair. The reason she came to life, was because she liked the feeling of the wedding ring. It meant that someone had come to love her, and was going to set her free.

_Emily_…

…_the one they called the corpse bride_…

I don't believe that I am remembering this all right now. It was for the wedding ring- that I was supposed to give to Victoria- that a dead woman- Emily- came back from the grave. It was like, I suppose, an offering of peace to her.

I wonder- do all dead people want something in return for someone to bring them to life? Might I have to use a wedding ring again?

On second thought, I don't want another dead woman thinking that I want to bring her to life and marry her. I got myself into enough trouble with Emily, and Victoria, when I said my wedding vows too perfectly in a graveyard.

So, what _is_ something that a dead person would desire?

"Victor. Oh, Victor."

I leap ten feet out of my seat- and I swear my heart almost stops- when I fall to the ground, catching myself on my hands, while Victoria races to me.

"Goodness, I'm sorry," she says, helping me to my feet. "I…I suppose we must think of a less noisy way to get your attention." She giggles nervously, her cheeks changing colors.

"As long as I don't stop breathing," I say meekly, brushing off my shirt, and straightening the fringe of brown hair on the side of my face.

Victoria shrugs, smiling a little lopsidedly. "Forgive me again, but when you didn't come to the piano, I thought perhaps you had something else on your mind." She looks up at me again, her eyes extremely gentle. "Would you like…to talk?"

"Oh, no, no," I say quickly, shaking my head. "That…that party with my parents, and the rest of the family…I suppose it left me a little…oh, drowsy." I bite my lip so I don't wince, but I hope Victoria doesn't notice what a dreadful liar I am; in two years, we have shared everything. Lying to her will never be easy, and never without pain.

Victoria's shoulders fall, but still she smiles sweetly, and reaches up to kiss me on my cheek. "I understand how you feel," she finally whispers. "I haven't seen that much excitement since our wedding. It's actually hard to imagine it never happened."

I nod, but I'm starting to fiddle around with my tie.

"Why don't we go by the fire?" Victoria asks, starting to lead me away from the dining room table. "It might relax us both, after last night." She's looking into my eyes once more, but I think it's the dark circles under my eyes that she's noticing.

I don't say anything until we are nestled into the sofa by the fireplace. Victoria is under my chin, and my arms are around her waist, a blanket wrapped around both our shoulders against the late-winter drafts.

I suppose it's a good thing Victoria and I are allowed to sit together, in peace.

At least, until old memories come knocking again.

….

For some reason, the mattress on my bed feels like cushioned rocks; so does the pillow. I turn and tumble around on it endlessly, but keep my eyes closed so I can fall to sleep more quickly. But I guess my reasoning doesn't work, because I keep seeing the bleeding woman in a stained dress behind my eyelids. Time and time again, I try to block her away, but the distant sound of someone calling to her gets more and more disturbing. It comes to me enough, so that it almost sounds like someone is calling to me.

How can I sleep when it sounds as though someone needs me? Or at least, wants for me to not sleep anymore.

I turn over one more time, pushing my face into the pillow, and raise myself up from under the blankets. They feel scratchy and cold, like old stones, when my hands brush against them, so I pull away when I finally sit upright.

When I've sat long enough to wake up a little, I swing my legs over the side of the bed to reach for my bedside lamp. Straining my eyes in the dark, I fumble around for the tray of matches, and shakily strike one lit. My hands tremble when I touch the match to the candlewick, but once it's lit, I stand up, and raise the candle. The flame is bright enough for me to see just a few feet so, keeping it firmly in one hand, I open the door, and creep out into the hall.

Even by candlelight, the dark still sends ripples of cold through me. The flickering flame makes shadows look more confusing and much wilder, like great animals hiding behind the wallpaper. I gulp; how long will I still relive childlike nightmares when I'm in the dark?

Still, my feet make no noise on the carpeted floor and I'm making fine progress through the hall. I want to head for the stairs, but something stops me at Victoria's door. I hold the candle towards the doorknob, and listen closely. There is no sound, and a peek through the keyhole proves it; she is fast asleep, not making a single peep in her dreams.

I wish I could have a calm, restful mind like she does. But then again, she has never tried to think of what a dead person desires enough to come back to life; in sight of a living person, too.

I grin at Victoria before I stand back up, and find my way to the stairs. One by one, I take them until I'm downstairs in the drawing room, just several feet away from the piano.

Now I'm not entirely sure what I should do next, but I decide to sit down on the piano bench, placing the candle above the keys. My fingers hover over them, but the musician in me is not awake, despite that I'm unable to sleep.

Instead, I slump my posture, and stare at the walls, like before. The candlelight shows everything- the shine of the piano wood, and the vase beside the candle.

The vase…

My hand finds its way to the glass vase, inching towards the little rose inside. The petals are still fresh, so they're soft like silk against my cold fingers. In the soft light, noticing the detail of the petals and the rich red color is fascinating. It reminds me a lot of the flowers I saw in a lot of old paintings, bending in a breeze; being held by an angel, or a bride.

A bride. Who carried roses in a bouquet…

I can't look anywhere but at the flower. It suddenly seems to stick itself into my memory, and I think of the flowers Emily carried when she almost married me…

I blink twice at the rose, clenching its stem tightly between my fingers. If I took this rose with me, would someone accept it…for a second time?

…..

Within moments, I dress myself, comb my hair straight, and tuck the rose in the pocket of my brown suit, stepping outside into the night air.

Since no one is out, I don't hesitate to take the longest strides I can towards the outskirts of the town, where the clearing and the forest are under a partially-hidden moon.

Suddenly, everything looks as if I'd only seen it yesterday. The trees are still bare, speckled just a little with snow, but starting to sprout buds on their branches. Rocks and fallen trunks, some with a couple of sleeping crows, lie below them, shining with melting ice where the moon hits just right.

Taking even breaths I walk between the trees, turning my eyes here and there to watch for the graveyard. But everywhere, it's the same. The only surprise is when I almost slip onto the thawing creek, and lose the rose to the freezing water.

Finally, when I feel like I've circled the same places over and over again, I stop and collapse onto a stone. I gently pull out the rose from my pocket, and study it, not knowing what I should do next. I could circle this forest all night, and Victoria would worry about me, but I'm not ready to give up.

Although, I wonder if perhaps I should head back now, before morning sneaks up on me.

"At least Victoria can accept this flower," I whisper, before I stand up. But my feet slip out from under me, and I tumble quickly to the frosted ground, almost losing the rose from my grip. After a second, I move to scrape the snow from my clothes, and tuck the rose halfway into my pocket.

But then, I spot the words.

There are lines of words engraved into the stone, though they are very faded, and I can't read them. But, it's enough to tell me it's a gravestone- that needs a flower.

Carefully, I lay the rose on the ground before the stone, and pat it gently.

"Accept…accept this rose, if you could," I mumble, unsure of what I'm doing.

A chill overtakes me while a wintry breeze cuts through the trees, and starts up some cawing from the crows.

This is spooky. It's familiar, but still unnerving.

In my distraction, I barely notice the ground beneath the rose start to crumble. Dead roots and weeds break away, while something seems to try to break free.

If that is what I think it is…

A jolt shatters me while a cold, wet something grabs me from below, pulling me all the way to the ground in seconds. The hardened frost smacks my cheeks, and I suppress a yell while the hand pulls harder and harder, finally managing to pull my entire arm, and part of my shoulder, into the earth.

Whoever is taking me below, I certainly hope they can give me some answers.


	6. Questions

**Chapter 6 (Kiki)**

Miss Plum and Kiki sit together at a table beneath a dangling green lamp, sharing a cup of specially brewed tea between each other. From behind the counter Paul the Head Waiter calls to some of Miss Plum's cook assistants, and they bustle quickly with the cracking pots and pans, shouting and laughing together. Miss Plum frowns over the rim of her cup while one assistant loses his nose into a clean mug. Kiki doesn't pay any attention.

With a tiny clink, Kiki puts down her cup, looking at Miss Plum curiously. "Miss Plum, are you sure you shouldn't be helping the others?" she asks, pointing with her thumb at the chaos.

"Can't someone ever get a break to look after their adopted daughter?" Miss Plum answers, looking sweetly at Kiki.

"True, but isn't your work as a cook important to you now?" Kiki wants to know. "I mean, a new arrival could come in anytime. I don't think you would try to disappoint them by not helping to make something delectable for them."

"Dear heavens, no!" Miss Plum says, clunking her teacup onto the table, spilling some of her drink. "I am the Head Cook, but it's not as though my assistants are bumbling idiots. Of course, I could ask Elder Gutknecht to look after you, but he's always holed up in that prison he calls a library. Have you _seen _the state of that place, of late?"

"Every day," Kiki says.

"Well, then you catch my point," Miss Plum states, nodding her head so that her wiry black hair waves like grass. "In any case, you said that you wanted to have a party for your special day, didn't you? So, they have to do some things for you too."

"Why can't you work with them on that? You make the very best cakes, you know," Kiki wonders out loud.

"Because I couldn't easily keep a secret about what flavor it would be, and how much frosting will be made for you," Miss Plum admits. "In life, Kiki, I never spilled a glass, yet I toppled over every secret I had." She laughs briefly, clutching her large stomach while it shakes with her laughter. Kiki giggles with her, wondering if she ever had a secret, but still enjoying the moment of bonding.

But then, Kiki stops, and she looks down into her reflection in the cup. Miss Plum always said that she could remember things about her life. How she laughed, how she had a family, and followed her hobby of cooking into death. She always laughed, talking about the loves she shared, and the friendships she kept. But did Kiki ever have any of that when she was alive?

Of course, Kiki remembered the essence and importance of life- that was why she celebrated her birthday. But, what did it feel like to run? To walk and breathe air through your lungs- because you would turn blue if you didn't? What was it like to touch and feel things, like flowers and grass?

What did it feel like to be in love? To want someone, or something, beyond even your wildest dreams?

They just keep right on coming through her, and suddenly Kiki can't keep up with which questions she wants to ask most. There is simply too much she wants to know, and she fears that maybe Miss Plum won't be able to tell her everything.

Still, Kiki feels that keeping this all bottled up is silly. And it hurts, although her heart doesn't beat- another thing that Kiki thinks may never be explained well enough to her.

"Miss Plum, um, can I ask you about something?" Kiki speaks up.

Miss Plum leans forward with interest, and grins at her. "Speak up," she offers gently.

Kiki takes her time approaching this question, leaning forward towards Miss Plum and bracing herself in advance for the answer. "You always tell me these stories about what happened in your life, and I think that they are wonderful. But, well, there's one thing you haven't told me before."

"And what is that, dear?" Miss Plum implores.

"What is it like, Miss Plum? To…to live, I mean. To breathe air, and…and feel things on your skin…?"

Miss Plum's eyes widen, and she slumps slowly back in her seat, bumping against the back of the chair. Her eyes nervously scan the room, and Kiki follows her gaze. She can feel her anxiety rolling up inside of her, and wishes for Miss Plum to just say something- anything.

Finally, Miss Plum stops scanning her eyes about, and looks back at Kiki with glumness in her expression, her lips forming a thin line on her face.

"Kiki, dear, to talk about things…like that…It's, it's really, very hard. Well, talking is easy. But feeling with our hands and skin is not. You can say that we use them so much in life that, when we die, the touch just simply runs out. It all does."

"But we can still feel with our guts," Kiki says, gesturing towards her still chest. "We can…be excited, and nervous, and loving…"

"Yes, but that's not the point," Miss Plum begins again. "You see, we…we don't need…oh, Kiki, what's the point in me saying all this?"

"I want you to tell me!" Kiki states firmly. "What do you remember about feeling alive?"

"I don't. Plain and simple," Miss Plum answers.

Kiki's shoulders deflate, her expression falling into a frown. After such anticipation from a person like Miss Plum, that was all she got? No. No, no, no. There had to be more. Miss Plum had to remember, somehow.

"You have to know something!" Kiki finally says, after a long moment of silence between them. "You've done so much. Doesn't it all make you feel…wonderful, fulfilled, or happy?"

"Kiki, it's been years and years," Miss Plum explains. "I suppose it just comes with death. We keep our memories, but it's hard to know what they felt like…because we can't do it around here."

Kiki stays still, and doesn't speak for a long time. She has no idea what to think. But in spite of Miss Plum's explanation, she refuses to let go.

"Do you at least remember the very, very last time you saw a living human?" she asks. "What did you do, then?"

It takes Miss Plum less than a second to answer, "Well, that's easy to say. A living, breathing man was actually brought down here, by a lovely little lady like you."

Kiki gasps so suddenly that she almost knocks over her cup, but rapidly puts it back upright. "What? How did that happen?"

"No one knows. But you know, he was around your age, dear. You would have liked him, I think."

Kiki sits back, and almost instantly she tried to remember what a living man might have looked like. Did he have ivory skin, like Miss Plum did? Would he have thick, dark hair, just like Miss Plum? Was he tall? Or strong?

"Well, that's not fair," Kiki whispers. "I wish I could have been around to see him. I-I…I guess I might be the only person in this whole place who died young, for a very long time." Kiki sighs, and leans her head down on the table on top of her folded arms. "Oh, Miss Plum, I wish I could be alive again."

Miss Plum doesn't say anything for a long minute.

At last, Kiki sits up and pushes in her chair. "Well, thank you for tea, Miss Plum," she murmurs. "I'll see you later."

Miss Plum grins and nods at Kiki, before she sullenly leaves the pub and makes her way towards her little corner among the buildings.

Kiki's footsteps thump gently on the ground, but to Kiki they sound like thunder. She feels her insides sinking, and her spirits slipping, while she slumps down on her vanity chair, her hair falling down over her drooping face.

Like before, in the pub, she leans her hands on the table, laying her chin on top of them, so that she is millimeters from touching the glass with her nose. Kiki runs her eyes over her face in the reflection, noting how deeply the blue is etched into her skin, and the scars and holes of decay sticking out in her rosy cheeks.

"I'll never understand that," she grunts, grimacing at the slight pink colors.

Then, there is the gash in her forehead. The long, dented part of her skin where she must have either taken a great fall, or if something had smacked her before death. It was large and purple, and up till now, she had never tried to look so deeply at it. Maybe she will never understand how it felt to be touched by a knife, or burned by fire. She lifts a hand to her forehead, and taps the wound, but feels no rise in her heart when there is no fire or feeling in her skin.

A cool wind slips through Kiki's corner and a large tendril of her hair falls into her eyes, covering them so she cannot see. Without lifting herself off the vanity, she grabs her hairbrush and yanks it through her hair. The bent bristles catch at a knot in the strands, but she pulls even harder, ignoring all rules of caution. There is a sound very much like snapping rope, and the clump of her hair breaks right out of her skull, so that part of that side of her hair is cut in half.

Kiki frowns at the hair in her brush, sticking through the bristles like an impaled fur-ball. Then she looks at herself in the mirror, but doesn't look right at the place where her hair used to be.

"Don't forget," she whispers, "your birthday," and continues to stroke at her hair, without lending her mind in the task at all.


	7. That First Glance

**Chapter 7 (Victor)**

For just an instant, it feels like my head has disappeared, and I can't think or say anything. It's not like I want to, though. My body feels like it's swimming, extremely dizzy from being dragged below the ground.

"Look here, everybody! He's come back!"

"Oi! It's him again!"

"The living groom!"

"He's still soft!"

A thousand voices bombard me one after the other, until I can finally open my eyes.

"You get him something to drink!" a large woman with wiry black hair calls, before she turns back to me. "Victor! How good to see you again!" She whips out the rose from behind her back. I stare in shock; the rose that I put on the grave has lost its vibrant color, and some of the petals have fallen off. "So nice of you to send a little greeting to all of us."

I don't answer her right away. I can begin to stand up, although my mind is whirling furiously. The bright colors of this place, and the staring gazes of all the corpses, are hard to take in all at once. But just the same, I cannot believe the rose actually worked. I made it.

A whirling sensation in my stomach sends me collapsing into the counter near me, and just as I slam my hands onto the wood, a mug comes sliding into my field of vision. Before I can react it clunks against my forehead, and I jolt down to the counter, where my forehead meets the hard surface.

A pair of gentle arms pulls me up, while slight pain whirls through my head. I rub the hurt spot on my forehead while the large woman, who greeted me earlier, massages my arms gently.

"Careful, Victor," she says. "We wouldn't want to be responsible for headaches around here. Especially for you."

Finally I give my head a shake, and sweep aside my hair, before I glance at the woman. "Excuse me, um, what's your name?" I want to know, although I've certainly seen her face somewhere.

"My name's Plum. _Miss_ Plum, that is," she says, patting my arms before letting go.

"And I," says a skeleton in a bowler hat, who rushes up to me and puts an arm around my shoulders, "can say from the bottom of our bones that we are glad to see you again!" Then he dashes towards a piano made from a coffin in the corner, and points to the skeleton playing it. "Hit it, boys! Let's sing and dance for our old friend!"

In an instant, most of the corpses and skeletons are getting up from their seats and dancing up on a little stage near the piano. Lights are flashing all around them, and the energy in the room picks up a hundredfold. Those still sitting at the counter, where a purple head is skittering along on a group of beetles, are waving their glasses high in the air and laughing together.

Even now it still feels odd to be surrounded by the dead, though it doesn't outmatch my curiosity about that story. So I look around for anyone sitting still long enough for me to question them, though it's hard when the flashing lights take everyone in and out of the light.

Suddenly, a group of skeletons take my arms and pull me into the midst of all the dancing. I'm passed like a hot potato between everyone, while they try to shake my hand or pat my shoulder, all cheering and singing. As if I am not dizzy enough after it's over, the skeleton in the bowler hat pulls me up on the stage, and starts to throw himself around in wild dances, tugging me along with him. Now I can't even see which way is up or down, while the lights flicker on and off, and the skeletons clap, with my head twisting in circles. I can't get a word out, so I wait for the wild song to end, and to be tossed off the stage.

"Glorious moves, friend!" the lead skeleton sings, helping me to the floor, while the others applaud and the lights return to as they were.

While everyone else returns to their tables, and drinks are passed around again, I stumble light-headedly towards a chair. After so much unexpected excitement I'm begging myself to get a seat, while my head slowly gets the chance to straighten itself.

"Here, Master Victor," a wheezy voice says, and suddenly, a stool is thrust out under me, and I plop down upon it, resting my hands on the counter.

"Thank you," I mutter while I try to sit upright. But when I do, I quickly come face-to-face with a hunchbacked man in a ratty top hat, and a friendly smile.

"M-Mayhew?" I ask, my eyes widening at the sight of my family's late coachman.

"Fancy seeing you here again," he says, tipping his hat at me.

"H-how nice to see you," I say, sincerely glad to see a familiar face.

"Say, you want a drink?" Mayhew asks, sipping from his mug. "You're looking a little white in your face."

I shake my head slowly. "No thank you, I'm all right."

"Good to see us all again after so long?"

"I suppose most of it is coming back," I answer. "But…" I look behind my shoulder at the skeleton sitting next to me. "…it's still a little terrifying to be surrounded by the dead."

"Aw, it's easy to get used to that." Then Mayhew leans down on the counter and peers at me curiously. "So then, what's been happening, Master Victor? Your parents doing fine? Miss Victoria, too?"

"Yes, they're all right, thank you," I answer. "But, you see, Mayhew, I'm actually here for a certain reason. I think that something may have happened, and someone around here may have some answers about it."

Mayhew sips his drink before giving me a quizzical look. "Exactly what do you mean?" he asks.

I take a breath, readjust my position, and tell him all about the story that Victoria and I heard.

Mayhew sets his drink down, and removes his hat to scratch his head. "I can't tell you anything much about it, Master Victor," he says, "but…there could be a girl around these parts that may know something or two."

I flick my eyes back to him after having thought for a moment, and prepare to rise from my seat. "Well, Mayhew?" I ask, "can you tell me where I can find her?"

"Somewhere by the old wizard's tower," he replies, pointing just out the doorway, past some of the mingling skeletons. "But you didn't hear it from me; heh, she never stays in_ here_ for very long. It seems she likes to keep to herself around there."

"Thank you, Mayhew," I say quickly, before taking off towards the swinging doors on the opposite end of the pub. It's difficult to make it past everyone without being forced into a conversation, or offered another drink, but I'm finally out the doors, and in the dim night.

Everything appears just the same as when I was last here. The crumbling walls and scattered skeletons are everywhere, while I walk down a winding path towards the tall tower just beyond.

It's not that far away now, but I'll have to be careful. The pathway to the tower is hovering like a bridge, over a little alley where a broken coffin, made to look like a bed, sits in an abandoned corner. Almost hidden by the shadow of the pathway, there is a mirror propped up on an old tricycle against the wall, with a tiny table next to it.

It's a hollow, but homey scene. Except for the long, slim figure sitting before the mirror.

Hmm. That's funny. I thought that place was empty…

I quickly stop where I am, and take a couple of steps back to see just who is sitting in front of the mirror. Kneeling down, I can get a better look at who it is.

Straining my eyes for a moment, I look into the reflection of the mirror. It's a grimy surface, like the streetlamps in the slums back home, so it makes the face in it look a little distorted, but it's good enough to tell who it might be.

It's a young woman, probably about as old as I am. She is moving her hands through her long, dark blue hair, where a part of it has been snagged off. Her skin is the same bright sky blue as the other corpses, boldly standing out against what I can see of her clothes. She moves almost like a clockwork toy- every part of her is still, while only her hands work and move with the hairbrush.

But the mirror is small enough that, while she makes consistent moves with her hands, I can't look at her face long enough to study her.

I steal a glance at the tower, which is practically thirty paces away. Then my gaze wanders back to the girl by the mirror. Is this the girl that Mayhew was talking about, who could tell me something about that mystery story?

By this time I'm kneeling comfortably on the ground, waiting for this girl to make a move. I'm afraid to call out to her, as I may scare her; I know_ that_ all too well. Besides, she looks too deeply in concentration to even notice that I'm behind her.

Though, I do wish I could talk to her…

Then, for no apparent reason, she slowly stops brushing her hair.

She puts the brush down, and places it on the side table, leaning just an inch closer towards the mirror. I watch closely, while she draws back, and I can see her face widen in shock.

What's the matter…?

Then, she throws herself around, half-gasping and half-screaming, while her eyes lock onto mine. For a split second I watch her eyes grow to the size of saucers, and her hair whip into her face, before she dives behind the wall.

I'm just as startled by her outburst as she was by me, and I also jump back, although I'm very close to falling. I teeter on the edge before I force myself together, and jump back in the direction I came. I really want to go back and find that girl- tell her that I don't want to hurt her- but my legs are working much faster. They leap a few more times before I can't see the coffin in the corner, and I stay in that spot for a second longer.

Almost right away I start to walk back, but I don't want to go so quickly that I scare her again. I think that if I went back I would scare myself again too. The look in her eyes was enticing, but frightening when she looked so alarmed.

Still, I know I should talk to her. But if I do it now, well, the end would be left up to whoever screamed first.

Instead, I lean against a wall, and sit on the ground for a few moments, before I start to gather myself. By now she should have figured that I wasn't trying to hurt her- unless she was so frightened that she went back to the pub. Should I just go back, and try there?

I shake my head no, and hoist myself from the ground. After straightening my coat, and sweeping my hair straight again, I begin walking on tip-toe in the direction of the girl's corner. But before I can turn the corner of the wall, I hear a voice whisper: "Who _was_ that? Oh, God, I don't know. But…he did not look normal. He didn't look…oh. Oh. I…I've never seen eyes like _that _before."

Then there are footsteps, gently clopping on the ground like horse's hooves. "Okay, so, I think he's gone," she says further. "All right, then. Although, I don't know; maybe…soon, I'll get the chance to glance at those eyes again. I've never seen something so…_alive_, before."

All this time I'm holding my breath, waiting for the right moment to peek around to see her. But I'm frozen in place; the way she talks about looking at me somehow makes me feel like she can still see me. I'm almost embarrassed to turn around at the wrong time, in case I catch her gazing around to see if I'm still there.

But then, for a long time, it's quiet.

I walk around the corner as though the path is made of china glass. But I'm wholly relieved when I notice the girl again.

She's lying on her side on the coffin, with her tendrils of straight blue hair hanging down her shoulders. Although her face is a bright sky blue, there is still a hint of rosy glow in her cheeks. Her dress, worn and tattered, is draped over the coffin like sheer bed sheets, bunching around her body like swaddling clothes on a cherub. I stare at her long enough to finally notice that she isn't breathing. But of course; she's dead.

Perhaps I should come back later, and question her then.

But, it's very difficult to let her go while the answers I'm looking for could be right in front of me?

I jump down softly, so as not to wake her; but is it even possible to wake the sleeping dead?

Once I'm on the ground, I tiptoe towards her. She's so still, that it's really not difficult accepting that she's dead. But somehow, I can imagine this plain, broken coffin being surrounded by flowers at a real funeral. Suddenly I'm imagining all kinds of things that might have been about this girl. Did her cheeks glow the way they do now, even in death? Was her hair always that fine?

After what seems like a long moment, I am standing over the coffin, trying to observe further details about her. Her hands are clasped together below her chin as though in prayer, and from my height, her dress looks like wings spread about her. She looks so peaceful, like perhaps she could sleep forever and wouldn't care what she missed.

Without thinking, I reach down and touch the exposed blue skin of her arm. I draw my hand back quickly, jumping. Her skin is cold to the touch. But…if I touch her cheeks, will they be warm? Something so pretty couldn't possibly be cold.

This time, I kneel to her level, tentatively reaching towards the girl's face. I'm anticipating the feel of heat waving off of her, but I'm seized once again when her cheeks are just as cold as her arms.

I shake my head. I'm not about to be repulsed by cold skin on a dead girl. She's too beautiful. Not just outwardly, but somehow, I can already see the good soul beneath the rotting skin.

If only I could take a deeper look into her eyes. I'm pretty sure they'll be a color that I've never seen before.

But for now, the flowery softness of her skin is something extremely pleasant beneath my fingertips, much like the feel of a piano.

I gasp. This is only the sort of magical feeling that I get when I touch Victoria.

How can that be?

No doubt, this girl is attractive, and she has the kind of innocent air about her that makes her seem like a young child, that must be cared for. And then, I find that I'm running my fingers faster, and more deeply, across her skin, as though I'm trying to ease her pain.

Can she have pain if she is dead?

I quickly dismiss all other thought as I just caress her skin. Although she doesn't breathe, she suddenly seems quite alive, and I love the way I can keep her in such a state of calm. Victoria can sleep beautifully at times, but this is simply lovely.

But then she rolls over, her eyes starting to flutter.

Her mouth opens in a gasp, before I can think to move away from her.


	8. Meeting

**Chapter 8 (Kiki)**

He was just there—he didn't do anything to her. And yet, Kiki had to get up and run. He had appeared so quickly to her, she didn't have time to smile or say hello. One minute, she had been asleep, and then she saw the beige face of a young man with dark hair leaning over her.

For a second, Kiki feels her throat go dry, and her heart constrict in her empty chest. She is frightened of this man, and yet, she feels his warmth.

How is it possible? After you were gone, the warmth was gone too.

That is part of the reason why she is so frightened to see him right in front of her face.

Kiki flings her hands over her face, forcing a scream from her throat. She brings her legs to her chest, pulling herself into a ball, as though trying to protect herself from a bloodthirsty ghost. Her loud cry startles the man beside her coffin bed, sending him stumbling in a fast fury away from it. At last he stumbled on the ground, but emits a cry much like Kiki's. He is forced to look up at her, while she lies in a fetal position on her bed.

The man doesn't speak, merely watches for the young woman to look up from her spell of shock.

"Who are you?" Kiki asks, not looking up from the cover of her blue arms.

"I- I, I am…I am…Victor," he says.

"And, what…what are you doing here?" Kiki asks. "I…I don't like people sneaking up on me like that. Surely, you would know that."

"I didn't…I-I m-mean that I was just walking away to the tower over there"—Victor points to Elder Gutknecht's tower close in the distance—"I was by n-no means trying t-to d-d-disturb you, I was only…"

Kiki still hides, but something in Victor's voice promotes her to take a dare at looking up. She finds herself thinking back to everyone she has met in the Underworld, thinking of their various voices. All scratchy and monotone—including hers—the voices of the long dead. But there's music in this one. It is light, and gentle.

"You promise you will not try anything with me?" Kiki asks, already beginning to bring her arms away from her face.

"Absolutely," Victor reassures her. To be sure, he takes a step back, although he is prepared to take another glance at the woman's face.

It is a long moment before Kiki removes her arm from her eyes.

But the only thing she can do is gasp. Victor jumps back at the suddenness.

"You're one of them," she says, sucking in another breath through her hollow throat.

Victor cocks his head at her in confusion.

As if she is reaching to touch a snake, Kiki pushes her hand towards Victor. He doesn't move, just watching her inch towards him like a child trying to reach a tender butterfly.

Finally, Kiki touches her hand to Victor's, but she pulls back with the same suddenness as her gasp.

"I forgot," she says meekly. "If you are living, your skin would be warm. But I can't feel warmth…the warmth of human skin, I mean."

"Why would that be?" Victor wants to know, cautiously moving back towards her.

Kiki just shrugs, slumping her hands down into her lap. "I'm dead. I cannot feel anything except what's inside of me. Yes I know it makes no sense, but I wish I could."

She sits back in her coffin bed, bumping against the wall, as Victor looks around the space. It seems pretty empty, deserted of any other corpses, and then he looks down at Kiki curiously.

"What were you doing out here?" he wonders out loud. "All…alone?"

Kiki glances back up, wrapping her arms around her knees. "Oh," she begins, exhaling although she doesn't need to. "I don't know. I was just getting…a little…frustrated, I suppose. Nothing makes sense to me anymore."

"Perhaps you only just came here," Victor says. "You must feel a little frightened being here."

"It's not so much that I'm frightened," Kiki answers. "It's only…well…I'm not exactly sure how to put it to you." Then she was quiet, pulling her knees tighter into her chest.

Victor looked behind him at the tower. He didn't know what to say to this strange new woman. She seemed so confused, but there was an innocent air about her—the same childlike aura from earlier. But in spite of being at a loss for words, Victor didn't want to leave her. Her frown made his spirits drop, and he didn't like it a bit.

He bent down, so that they were eye-to-eye. "Um…Kiki?"

She looked at him, but with shyness behind her eyes. "Yes?"

"Would you like it if I stayed here?" he said. "Then perhaps you wouldn't feel so lonely."

Kiki slowly produced a lopsided grin, shrugging her shoulders. "Why not?"

Victor took this as a signal to sit beside her on the coffin bed, placing his hands in his lap to appear a gentleman.

The more Kiki observes Victor, the wider her face becomes—a look of pure amazement, like she was looking at a wonder of the world.

"You know," she finally says, "I didn't think it was possible for a living human to come down here. Is…is it possible for all humans to do it?"

"I…I don't know," Victor answers. "I n-never thought that I could do it. It was an accident, when I came here the first time."

Kiki peers closer at Victor. "But…how did it happen?" Kiki wants to know, leaning closer to him.

Victor doesn't answer for a long time. Rather, he stares away into the distance, giving Kiki a better chance of observing him. Her mind clicks in an instant, remembering how she had talked with Miss Plum about the human who had visited their world some years ago. She had pictured a human who looked just like Victor as Miss Plum had relayed her story—with thick, dark hair, a tall build, and skin the color of ivory. And somehow, after so many days of watching corpses with blue skin and navy hair, she has a hard time taking her eyes off Victor. She's in rapture at seeing such a creature—no, a person, who should be in the world above hers.

"It was a long time ago," Victor whispers, and he glances back at Kiki, breaking her from her reverie. "It was night, and I was in the graveyard, in the woods. I…I was due to be married to Victoria, my wife, and…and somehow I couldn't say my vows."

"Were you scared?" Kiki wonders aloud. "It must have felt so wonderful to know you were getting married, wasn't it?"

"No, no…" Victor's voice trails off, and he sighs a little. "I was more than scared. I remember it being as though my life was getting away from me—that I couldn't stop anything. I didn't know what I would do, because I thought, at first, that Victoria wouldn't accept me."

"Now why ever wouldn't she accept you?" asks Kiki. "I think you're quite decent."

"If you ever saw me up in normal life," Victor answers quietly, "you would see why."

"What do you mean?" Kiki says curiously. "I'm sure that whatever it is you think it silly about you, I had tenfold when I was alive. Look." She points at the large, purple gash on her forehead. "I think I might have gotten this before I died. Like maybe I died from it."

The moment that Victor takes note of the gash, he gasps, touching his hand over his lips. "Oh, dear," he whispers. "I…I cannot imagine how that happened."

"I wish I could know," Kiki agrees with a nod. "I wonder, and wonder, every time that I look at it."

"Whatever it was, it must have been awful," Victor notes nervously.

Kiki shakes her head. "At this point, I even wish I could remember how it felt—when my head got hit, and I could bleed. It's strange to not be able to feel things like that—you know, fire, pain, cold..."

"Well, as you said," Victor begins with a smile, "I suppose at least you can feel with your heart."

"Yes," says Kiki. "That much I am grateful for. Death would not be the same if I couldn't feel friendships, and joy. Then, you know, it would be like I couldn't have a family or friends again."

Victor raised an eyebrow at her curiously. "Is that true?" he asked. "I met my old coachman, Mayhew, at the pub, and he told me that you don't come over there too often."

"In case you haven't noticed, I don't like feeling like I'm disconnected from how I used to be," Kiki answers. "I want more than just to have each day be another party, like everyone else. I want answers about what happened to me. But I have amnesia, at least according to Elder Gutknecht. So, I can't remember anything about my old life. And I don't think I ever will."


	9. A Long Night

**Chapter 9 (Victor)**

Such a thing is hard to imagine—not being able to remember anything about what life used to be. I'm sure that if anything of the sort happened to me, it would be hard to see how I could go on. Well, I suppose Kiki has no choice—she's dead.

"I don't believe it," I whisper, shocked. "Oh, my. It must be horrible—to be in this condition, and not have any memories about your life."

Kiki nods her head, as she slowly reaches to sweep aside her falling hair. "Yes. What I really don't like, is that Kiki isn't even my real name. It's just a name put together from what I can remember of it."

I think I just felt my heart skip a beat. It's simply difficult to think about—not having any recollection of life, and then not even knowing your own name. How can one go around not knowing anything about themselves, and yet still feel like a person?

Then again, it looks like it's possible. That is, if Kiki can do it in death.

"I suppose I should congratulate you," I say. "Because, I don't know how I would have dealt with being under such circumstances."

Kiki shrugs her shoulders, laughing softly. "Well, I'm glad for everyone down at the pub. They're the only family that I'll ever know, and they treat me like I'm any other person. You know, it's not like I'm a strange creature for not knowing who I am. I'm still human."

I find myself thinking back to the pub, how the skeletons had pulled me on the stage to dance to some wild music. How it had been fun, but hard to believe it was ever happening. I laugh. "Sometimes that's hard to imagine, when you find yourself dancing with skeletons," I say.

Kiki puts her hand to her mouth, covering a laugh. "Bonejangles, and his band? Oh, I know. He's the life of the party everywhere." Suddenly, it's hard to not laugh along with Kiki, while I recall the first time that I had come to this place. It's hard at first, but when I think back to when I first saw the skeletons and corpses, dancing under the colorful lights, I can smile.

"You know, I'm glad you came down here," Kiki says, the shyness returning to her voice.

"Really?" I ask.

"Oh, yes," Kiki says reassuringly. "It's not every single day that I meet a living human. And one who is so good-hearted."

"Oh, well, I cannot have conversations with a corpse each day either," I add, "so it's good to meet you as well."

Kiki smiles as she stands up. "Would you like to come with me to the pub?" she asks. "I think in a matter of minutes, we both will be missed."

When she asks me what we should do, I chuckle and shrug. Perhaps moving my feet to a happy beat will do me some good after my journey to this place. It would be good also to get reacquainted with all of Kiki's friends.

"Good, then let's go!" Kiki gestures for me to follow her, and we walk down the same streets I took earlier to find her, finally arriving back at the pub. Surely enough, music is crying out through every window, with some high laughter mixed in.

The moment we walk in through the doors, it is like my first arrival all over again. The lights blink on brighter, and everyone in the room claps. But I'm not certain at first if it's because of the music, or if they are glad to see that Kiki and I have come back at last.

And then, before I have a chance to observe further details about this place, I feel a hand pull on my shoulder. In a whoosh, I find myself facing Miss Plum again, except this time, her face is covered with a shocked expression, as though she thinks I am a kind of odd creature she has never seen before.

"Miss Plum," Kiki's merry voice says, "this is my friend, Victor. Victor, this is Miss Plum."

Miss Plum's face then brightens, as she clasps her hands together. "Oh, Kiki, my dear," she says, "it's good to see you both have met. I thought you two would look as wonderful as I pictured."

"Miss Plum!" Kiki exclaims, sounding like she doesn't know whether to cry or laugh.

"Kiki, darling, don't you remember?" Miss Plum asks. She leans a step closer to her, putting her hand on Kiki's gently. "Victor was the living man who visited us some time ago. I warned you that you would take a liking to him." She chuckles lowly, and Kiki rolls her eyes around.

Turning to me, she lowers her voice to a whisper. "You know, Victor, Kiki has been wondering very much lately what living life is like. You may be just the medicine she needs."

I cast a sideways glance at Kiki. "I-I'll do my best," I answer.

Miss Plum lays her hand on my hand, smiling through a crooked set of teeth. "Thank you, Victor. I'm certain this would mean the whole world to her."

She then puts her hands high in the air, and slowly begins to move to the music. "Now then why don't you two come dance?" she says. "It'll be fun."

Kiki laughs, as suddenly, a skeleton pulls her into a wild twirl close to the stage. I move a step closer to call Kiki back, but the skeleton has her locked in a close position. I don't move to stop her again—she seems to be having fun, even though the fast dancing is causing her to trip all over her torn skirt. I myself don't know if I should laugh, or attempt to save her before she gets hurt, but I don't see how I can when that skeleton is taking her in so many directions. I don't suppose I should disrupt such merriment, so I abandon the idea.

Having nothing else to do but watch the lights flare around the room and everyone else perform their dance routines, I make my way back to the bar, where Mayhew is still sitting, with a glass in his hand. With a sigh, I sit down beside him, leaning my head in my hand comfortably.

"Anything the matter, Master Victor?" Mayhew asks gently.

I look up to face him, raising myself up. "Oh, no, no, Mayhew. I'm just feeling a little tired, is all. It's"—I stifle a yawn, briefly closing my eyes—"been a long, exciting night."

Mayhew puts his glass down, and positions himself as though preparing to meet a demand, his back straightened, and eyes alert. "Now, I'm sure there's someplace you can rest your head for awhile. But…since we're all dead, and don't have to really sleep much…"

I hold up my hand for a moment. "It'll be all right, Mayhew. I think I know where I can go." With that, I stand up, and start for the doors. They swing open gently, and in a moment, I leave the music and laughter behind, as slowly, my drowsy state starts to catch up to me. At last, I just lean against a wall close to the alley where I saw Kiki sleeping, and let my eyes close by themselves. In an instant, I relax all over—it feels so good to do it, so it doesn't matter to me where I am. I just want to fall into sleep, quickly.

I jolt awake, as something is gently placed under my head. In my state, it lulls me back to dreamland quickly, the spell of sleep remaining for a long time after.


	10. A Few More Days

**Chapter 10 (Kiki)**

Once Kiki finally has the chance to settle after her crazy dancing partner leaves her be, she sits down beside Miss Plum, who immediately hands her a drink. In between chugs, she sweeps her hair behind her ears and leans back in her chair, almost contentedly.

"What are you thinking about, Kiki, dear?" Miss Plum wants to know.

Kiki doesn't answer at first, just shaking her drying hair from her face. "Oh?" she says.

"It's been a fine night since our own Victor came back," Miss Plum remarks. "Hasn't it?"

Kiki grins, but then peers more closely at Miss Plum. She can begin to recognize the look behind the look on her adoptive mother's face, so she puts down her drink, leaning towards her.

"You must be pretty happy that he came here, or you wouldn't look that happy," Kiki tells her.

"Indeed, my dear, it's good to have him back!" Miss Plum answers. "But, tell me something: what do you think of him?"

Kiki does a double take at Miss Plum's face in light of this question. Finally, she picks up her glass and takes a tentative, but thoughtful sip. "Well, at first he gave me quite a scare in the alleyway. But…he's…he's very sweet. He didn't appear to be afraid of us, since we're all dead, and he's still alive."

"Nonsense, Kiki. He's a part of our family, and always will be," Miss Plum says. "Though, truthfully, I think it would be good for you to be around him while he is here. He may be just what you need to take you out of this trance you have with the living."

"It's not a trance, Miss Plum. It's part of who I am," Kiki answers. "And it'll only go away once I have answers."

"So then, Victor is perfect to help you. He can give you all the answers you need!"

Kiki ponders Miss Plum's words as she sips from her glass. Of course, she is aware of the fact that a living human has entered her world, and that everything she ever wanted to know about life is at her fingertips. But then, as she pictures the ivory tone of Victor's skin, and the dark brown of his hair, she finds herself picturing the rest of the world in those tones—seeing other people with different colored skin, with a hair color other than blue. Her dead heart races as she considers the possibilities of the living world, and Victor helping her to see it all.

Her body arrests itself when instantly, she pictures _herself _wandering amongst the living…

"Miss Plum, you're wonderful!" Kiki exclaims, standing up from her chair, and throwing her arms around her. "I'll go find Victor right now, and we can get started!"

Without waiting for Miss Plum to say anything, Kiki strides out of the pub. She is so happy now, that there is almost a skipping in her step. She even does a little dance with her hands, moving them about at her side while she heads down the alleyway.

Then she stops, choking on a gasp.

A few feet from her, a figure is slumped on the ground, leaning against the wall. It slowly rises and falls, as though it is breathing.

Kiki starts towards the figure, when she recognizes the brown suit and brown hair, watching curiously as Victor breathes in sleep. She peers at him, wondering why he is asleep in this part of the alley. Perhaps he was too sleepy to make it to the coffin, she guesses. Well, that was just too bad—she could have made room for him on her bed, where at least he could be comfortable.

Slowly, Kiki reaches to touch Victor's shoulder, in order to turn him over in a more comfortable position. She figures that since she cannot carry him to her coffin without waking him up, she might as well make him comfortable and cozy right where he is. So she hurries down the alley to her coffin-bed, grabbing her pillow, and coming back to Victor in less than a minute's time.

As gently as she can manage, Kiki lays the pillow on the ground, and moves Victor, by his shoulders, so that he can lie down. She is slightly startled as his body jolts, but when she lays him on the pillow he is still again, as though he had never awakened.

Kiki waits a few minutes to see that Victor is truly asleep, before she leaves him be. In light of the fact that she helped Victor, she is still disappointed. Her excitement in starting her quest for the truth is quickly deflating, and suddenly, she doesn't know what she will do until Victor awakens; she doesn't feel like going back to the pub, and she also gave up her only pillow so that Victor could sleep.

Still, Kiki finds herself walking back to her corner, to her coffin, and to her cracked vanity. Silently, she sits upon her bed, her mind starting to whirl. Ideas for questions are throwing themselves at her, meanwhile resisting the urge to wake Victor up and immediately question him about life. But since she can't sit still, Kiki gets up from the bed, and reaches for the chest—the old wooden one containing all her treasures.

Sitting back down, she unhooks the latch, and lugs the whole chest onto her lap. Another wave of excitement takes her over, and Kiki smiles wide, imagining herself once more in the gorgeous blue dress tucked away in the chest. For in just two days' time, she will be another year older. And hopefully, every one of her friends will still want to celebrate. Perhaps even Victor could celebrate with her.

Kiki smiles and laughs at the same time; she never imagined she would celebrate her birthday with a living person. It would certainly make the celebration more interesting, but she hoped that he would be able to stay for it.

With a sigh, Kiki lies down on her coffin, ignoring that she has no pillow, and lets her arm dangle down to the ground, her fingers still grasping the blue silk of the dress. She closes her eyes with a grin still stuck on her face, imagining Victor's description of what the dress feels like. For she cannot wait to hear it.

…..

It is several hours before Kiki opens her eyes again, her hands still grasping the dress in the open chess. Drowsily, she looks down, and dreamily observes the way the light catches onto the silk, when suddenly, she notices a pair of brown shoes standing beside the coffin.

"Oh!" she starts, sitting upright quickly. "Victor, it's you….wait! Wait! Victor!" Kiki's face glows in her eagerness, and she drops the dress from her hand as she gets up to greet her new friend. "You're just the person I wanted to see."

"Really? Me too," Victor says, holding up a ratty, red pillow in his hands. "I also wanted to bring this back to you. Thank you, for bringing it to me."

"Oh," Kiki repeats. "You're very welcome. Please, come, and let's sit down. I have lots of questions I've been wanting to ask you."

"So do I."

Kiki gives Victor a look, as she puts her pillow back in place on her coffin. "What sorts of questions?" she wants to know, stiffening with anticipation.

"Well, someone told me you would know a few things about…a certain story."

Kiki hesitantly shrugs, before she sits down upon the bed next to Victor. "And I…I was wondering what…what it's like. To, you know—to _live_."


	11. Becoming Friends

**Chapter 11 (Victor)**

_What is it like to live_?

I am stuck as it is asking Kiki what she knows about the story that Victoria and I heard. But now that she has asked me what it is like to be alive…just where does one begin with a question like that?

"Maybe I should have begun with something simpler…" Kiki's voice breaks my train of thought, but only a little.

"It's actually a very good question," I tell her. "A lot of people ask it, but…to explain it to you, in your condition…that will take some time."

"Well then, why don't you tell me your story first?" Kiki suggests. "It should be easier, I hope."

Without even knowing it, I breathe out quickly, feeling somewhat relieved of the task of explaining the meaning of life to Kiki. But I still must take another moment to gather the details of the story. Even after all this time, it is still a gruesome tale to remember, and I hope that Kiki won't be too bothered by it. Finally, I proceed into the story, retelling it as best I can. But even after I finish, Kiki doesn't speak.

Instead, her eyes wander around the space, as though she doesn't know what to make of anything. That is just what I'm afraid of.

"I…" she starts, very uncertainly.

I'm afraid to speak or move as she slowly brings her gaze back around to me—still looking as though she is searching for something, but I can tell her answer is slowly dawning on her.

"That's…quite the story," she answers at last. "But, it seems an odd thing to be asking me about. Because I'm afraid I've heard no such story before ."

I suppose I should have known that asking her would be a lost cause. So now, who else can I ask?

"Just where did you hear that story?" Kiki wants to know, a thoughtful frown crossing her face.

"My cousin told it to me," I explain. "He made a claim that the story happened in the slum part of the town, close to where he lives. It's just that…something in that story was so familiar to me. I felt as though, perhaps I had been to that part of town before, and that…that I _knew _the woman who was murdered. And afterwards, for whatever reason, it brought me back down here."

Kiki nods her head, though her big eyes are even larger with wonder. "Miss Plum said you had been here before," she notes. "How on earth did you do it?"

My head swims as I recall both the times that I have been brought below into the grave. "Well, it's not the most pleasant experience," I tell her. "The first time, it happened by accident. I was practicing wedding vows, and so, I placed the ring on a stick in the ground. The next thing I knew, the stick had come to life, like a hand, and was pulling me into the ground." I shudder, remembering the way my heart had leapt into my throat when the hand had grabbed me, as Kiki puts her hand to her mouth.

"I never knew it was possible," she whispers in awe.

"Well, I'm afraid I'm the only one who has ever done it," I say, shrugging slightly. "If they knew the way, I'm certain there would be a lot more of the living here."

Kiki gives me a crooked look, as she nods again. "I guess I always thought that this world was for the dead, and that the upstairs world was for the living. Except, Elder Gutknecht once told me that it was possible for the dead to visit the living, but that it's just not natural. He says he doesn't like to do it very much—it disrupts the order of life."

"That's no surprise," I agree.

"Mm-hmm. And ever since Elder Gutknecht told me that, I've been wondering what it would be like to walk among the living. You know, to see the streets, where everyone moves around with air in their chests, and a heart beating inside. To feel the sun, and move through a summer breeze. To feel…_alive_ again!"

I remember Kiki's question about life, but it seems as though she already has a good grasp on the idea. Except, to describe simple things like the warmth of sunlight, a cool breeze on a hot day, and the beating of a heart, it would be like teaching someone how to feel like a human being again. And I haven't the slightest idea how to help Kiki picture those things. Not unless I actually brought her back with me to the living world.

I freeze the second that I picture such an idea. I know of course that the idea is possible—Emily brought me back up there when I wanted to go back to Victoria. But Kiki says Elder Gutknecht wouldn't do it for her—probably not unless she had someone else with her.

It's worth a try.

"Kiki, what if we went to Elder Gutknecht, and asked him to return us to the land of the living?" I suggest.

"Oh, I don't know, Victor," Kiki answers timidly. "He's never let me go up there before. What makes you think he'll let us go there now?"

"I don't know," I admit, "but we'll have to try. I think taking you up there is the only way to help you remember what it's like to feel alive again. I can't describe things like that to you myself."

"Couldn't you try?" Kiki says, locking her hands together like she is pleading for me to do it. "You're living, so you must know very well what it's like."

"Yes, but…" It's pretty impossible to hold myself against that pleading gaze Kiki has in her eyes, immediately reminding me again of a young child begging for a toy in a window. It's the kind of gaze that grabs my attention, and refuses to let up until I tell her all that I know about being alive.

I sigh and chuckle at the same time, and at this, Kiki curls her legs up on the coffin, and sits with the curiosity growing on her face.

I don't know how to begin in explaining such a complicated concept to an amnesiac corpse, though I do not want to keep her waiting. That look she is giving me is just so full of childish wonder that I feel even more incompetent in being able to talk about living. It actually feels frustrating, and I really wish I had some assistance in this task.

So I circle the sky with my eyes, searching for some inspiration. I almost laugh at myself—imagine finding inspiration to talk about life in a land where everything is dead. But then, my eye catches something moving closer to where Kiki and I sit, almost fluttering about against the darkened sky. I strain my eyes to see better what it is, but only when it flutters down into the space, I can spot the blue-and-white wings on a tiny moth. It comes slowly towards the coffin, and as I just stare in rapture at such a familiar creature, Kiki is smiling as though she is greeting an old friend.

"Well, hello," she says to the flittering moth. "Where have you been?"

The moth flutters for a moment or two in front of Kiki. She holds out her hand with her palm flat, and then something extraordinary happens. The moth lands on top of Kiki's hand.

"Goodness," I whisper. "Kiki, how did that happen?"

"Oh, this moth is always coming around here," she says. "I guess you could call it a friend of mine, but I didn't teach it to land on my hand like that. It seems to just trust me."

For a moment, I gaze at the tiny blue moth. It flutters its wings once or twice when I look at it, but it surprises me more that this delicate creature is down here in the land of the dead. Shouldn't it be up above…and alive?

I frown at the thought of such a thing having happened to the moth, but I can't resist showing my sympathy. Gently, I reach out my finger, and start to stroke the moth's silky wings. To my surprise, it doesn't start, or attempt to fly away. Instead, it stays absolutely still, and seems to relax whenever I touch it.

Kiki giggles softly. "I know, Victor. I never thought a moth would be so calm and trusting, either. I wonder if they are like this up above."

I shake my head, unsure of what to tell her. Although it seems to me that no ordinary moth would be so able to land on a young woman's hand. As a matter of fact, this moth looks a lot like the moths that Emily transformed into that night in the church.

I wonder…


End file.
